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<title>Sweet Lover Think Of Me by Suzuranao (IamLurking)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26299543">Sweet Lover Think Of Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamLurking/pseuds/Suzuranao'>Suzuranao (IamLurking)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fate/Grand Order</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Lullabies, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:14:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>838</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26299543</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamLurking/pseuds/Suzuranao</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i> I have loved you for a long time</i><br/>—<br/>Master can’t sleep, Robin sings a lullaby. </p><p>Set during Camelot.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fujimaru Ritsuka/Robin Hood | Archer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sweet Lover Think Of Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is not even a bed for Rushd, of all people. The village is stretched thin already from the refugees and threadbare, worn blankets is the best they can do for now.</p><p>There’s only meager straw mats to ward them from the cold floor as the sun sets, and Master foregoes his blanket in favor of adding to whatever little comfort it will offer the small child.</p><p>Even as the child sleeps uninterrupted for once, his Master does not. He sits outside the door, reddish dirt clinging to his dark clothes as he stares at the absence of a moon, the giant hole in the sky that taunts their demise at every step.</p><p>His Master tries to hide his worries, his doubts, his uncertainty, even when he knows it’s useless to pretend. Robin is not the first servant to see him in this state nor will he be the last. He’s not someone who can offer earnest encouragement, a cynical outlook better suited to be the voice of reason, the harsh slap of reality that stalls overly optimistic endeavors. And yet-</p><p>“Sorry. I can’t seem to fall asleep.”</p><p>His Master turns his head towards him, a small smile forming as if apologizing for somehow inconveniencing Robin with his insomnia. He hadn’t been wearing May King, but he hadn’t had the intention of spying undetected in the first place anyways.</p><p>He jumps from the shadow that obscured his features earlier, now lit by the faint but eerie white light in the sky. Master pats the space beside him and Robin can’t find a reason to say no just yet, so he joins him in staining irrevocably his pants with the dry dirt underneath.</p><p>“Want me to sing you a lullaby?” </p><p>He is only half joking, knowing his Master would probably say no. Not in the middle of such a situation, one that makes the hardships faced in America like a dream.</p><p>And yet part of him wonders which would be the one to make his Master sleep without a care in the world, like the young man he is supposed to be. </p><p>“Do you know any?”</p><p>It’s not a rejection like he expected, but not a straightforward answer.</p><p>“I don’t, to be honest.” Robin hesitates however, racking their memories for just the slightest hint of one to bring to the present and indulge the quiet request.</p><p>“I know a poem however, if you are fine with my singing being so-so.”</p><p>“That’s fine.”</p><p>Master’s blue eyes are tired, enough he knows the young man will fall asleep sooner or later without his aid. Robin doesn’t expect cold fingers to hold his, barely leaning against his side in order to get comfortable.</p><p>His hesitation is but a frozen quarter of a moment, before air enters his lungs, and exits in a soft voice, soft enough to carry nowhere but the ears of his Master at his side.</p><p>
  <em> When the nightingale sings, the trees grow green. Leaf and grass and blossom springs, in April, I suppose. </em>
</p><p>Master’s grip twitches slightly, blue eyes staring at the edge of the mountains that blanket them in darkness. But he does not move, quietly taking in each word that exits Robin’s lips in a soft lilt.</p><p>
  <em> Night and day it drinks my blood, my heart does me harm. I have so loved all this year, that I may love no more.     </em>
</p><p>So many of him know this poem deep within their souls, afflicted with the longing for a love that is not meant to be, for it burns bright and fleeting like a shooting star; one that cannot be saved even if corresponded for the very nature of what made them become Hood.</p><p>He, who spoke for all of them, understands now.</p><p>
  <em> If you love me, as men do say. Beloved, as I hope. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And if it be your will, make sure that others see; </em>
</p><p>Master’s frame relaxes with each second that passes by, eyelids heavier with each blink, breaths deeper and slower. Until his head slides to the side, resting against Robin’s shoulder.</p><p>
  <em> I know of none so fair a maiden, as the one I go bound before. Sweet lover, I beg you to love me for a time. </em>
</p><p>Master’s eyes finally close for good, the grip on his hand becoming slack, if not quite letting go yet. It’s a swift movement to cover them both with his May King, offering whatever meager protection of the elements it can to his Master. </p><p>The features on his face smooth with sleep, enough it beckons Robin like a moth to a flame. To raise his free hand, reaching with the back of his knuckles to stroke his lips, and yet stopping right before the warmth of a soft exhale reaches him.</p><p>The servant withdraws his hand, turning away to look at the myriad of shadows that blanket the silent village.</p><p>And yet, just before his eyes close, a songbird echoes in the quiet of the night.</p><p>“I will sing my song,”</p><p>
  <em> To the one whom it belongs. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have been thoroughly infected with love for Robin and just the delicious potential for yearning with him. The fear of attachment is seen a mile away with that man and coupled with devotion to his master is just. Yum. Tasty broken hearts and hesitation and the sweet, sweet ache of yearning.</p><p>I like to think that while the Robin we know is one specific personality in charge 100% of the time no matter what, he somehow gets to access to the other incarnations knowledge, memories, abilities and feelings.</p><p>The full poem, for those who wish to read:</p><p>When the nightingale sings, the woods grow green<br/>Leaf and grass and flowers come out, in April as I expect<br/>And love has gone into my heart with a spear so sharp<br/>Night and day it drinks my blood, my heart does me harm</p><p>I have so loved all this year that I may love no more<br/>I have sighed many a sigh, lover for your mercy<br/>One is no closer to love, and that I sorely regret</p><p>Sweet lover, think of me, I have loved you for a long time<br/>Sweet lover, I beg you for one speech of love<br/>While I live in a world so wide, I do not seek another<br/>With your love, my sweet darling, my bliss you might increase,<br/>A sweet kiss of your mouth might be my medicine</p><p>Sweet lover, I beg you for a love-boon<br/>If you love me as men say, lover, as I hope<br/>And if it is your will, make sure that it is seen<br/>So much I think of you that all of me grows pale</p><p>Between Lincoln and Lindsey, Northampton and Lounde<br/>I know of none so fair a maiden, as the one I go bound before,<br/>Sweet lover, I beg you to love me for a time<br/>I will sing my song<br/>To the one to whom it belongs.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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